


Kissing Games

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (not underage), Angst, Denial, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, Half-Sibling Incest, INCEST FOR EVERYONE, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kissing, Non-Explicit Sex, Sibling Incest, TW for allusions to Joffrey, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 16:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10970886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Sansa kissed her brother as a girl. She kissed her sister as a girl. She kissed her brother as an woman.





	Kissing Games

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the asoiaf kink meme prompt: "starkcest: (in our bedroom before, during, after the war). any/any(/any) combo including polyships but preferably something robb/sansa. throw theon in there too if you like."

It is Robb who comes to see her when she's crying, of course it is. “Sansa?” he asks and Sansa cautiously raises her head. She is pleased to see him, but she doesn't want to show it. She's too busy being miserable. But Robb is impatient, so of course he couldn't wait until she was ready to be cheered up to cheer her up. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Fine,” she sniffles, not at all trying to convince him. Robb sighs and sits down next to her on the bed, wrapping one strong arm around her and pulling her against his chest.  
  
“Theon didn't mean that,” he says, softly stroking her hair. “He's just... Theon.”  
  
She sniffs again. “It's not like he's wrong. Ser Waymar is going to the Wall, I know that. I'll probably never see him again. And – he's way too old for me. He thinks I'm just a stupid little girl. Everyone thinks I'm just a stupid little girl.”  
  
“Hey, hey, don't say that,” says Robb, tilting her head up to look at him. “I don't think that. No-one thinks that. You liked him, so what? That doesn't mean Theon had the right to go making fun of you for it.”  
  
Sansa squints suspiciously. “He's your friend.”  
  
“Yes, and I've set him right. It won't happen again.”  
  
“How are you two still friends after you've punched him so many times?”  
  
“It's a boy thing. You wouldn't understand.”  
  
Sansa laughs at that. See, how is she supposed to stew in her misery if he goes and makes her laugh? Then she sighs. “I guess I didn't really know him,” she says. “I knew nothing was going to happen. I wouldn't – I wouldn't have _done_ anything.” In truth she's barely old enough to know what she could have done anyway, but a blush rises to her cheeks regardless. “But I thought... maybe he could be my first kiss.”  
  
She stops, and then her blush deepens. Why is she saying this? Does she want her brother to think her a total fool. Robb pauses a moment before responding. “Why?” he asks. Sansa blinks in confusion. “I mean... why him?”  
  
There is the faintest of blushes on Robb's cheek as he asks, which Sansa doesn't understand but she supposes it is quite warm in here. She looks down, bashful, as she tries to explain. “I – he was so – handsome, and brave, and... not really all that nice, but if you got to know him–” she sighs. She feels like she isn't making any sense. “I suppose I'm just worried, that's all.”  
  
That makes Robb frown and pull her closer. “Worried? About what?”  
  
She chews her lip. She's being stupid, she knows she's being stupid, but– “I mean, I think Father will make a good match for me,” she says. “I think he'd sail across the Narrow Sea to find me a prince if I asked him too. But what if he doesn't? What if – what if he can only find me a man I don't like, a man who's fat and old and ugly, and what if – what if that's the only man I'll ever kiss?”  
  
_He'll make fun of me,_ she thinks, but Robb doesn't; he frowns like he takes her concerns very seriously. “So, you'd rather kiss a man like Waymar Royce first, just in case?”  
  
“Not – not like Waymar Royce _precisely_.” He was rather rude when he overheard Theon mocking her feelings. That somewhat spoiled the attraction. “But someone young, and bold, and handsome, and – and good.” She pauses, suddenly looking up into her brother's blue eyes. “Someone like you, Robb.”  
  
_Now why in all seven hells did I just say that?_ Robb's blush deepens, but he laughs it off. “You're not asking me to kiss you, are you?”  
  
Sansa blushes even deeper, and averts her eyes. “No, no, of course not,” she hurries out, “stupid, I'm being stupid, I'm sorry Robb–”  
  
“Hey, it's alright,” he tilts her head up again, forcing her to meet his eye. Sansa freezes. Something has changed now, but she has no idea what it is. His finger under her chin seems to send a shiver through her. “I mean, i-if you want to,” he stutters, and she realises he's shivering too. “I don't mind.”  
  
“Really?” And part of her mind is saying this is wrong, but at the same time – Robb, of course; Robb who's so brave and noble and kind, who she loves and trusts absolutely. He's the perfect boy to be her first kiss. “You'd do that for me?”  
  
Robb opens his mouth as if he's about to say something, but then he shuts it again and simply nods. Sansa stares for a moment before she bites her lip and giggles. Then she closes her eyes and puckers up.  
  
The kiss lasts barely a second. _His lips are soft,_ she thinks. Then he's gone, and she thinks she could have imagined it. She's almost about to protest.  
  
When she opens her eyes again however, it's like a spell has broken. _He's my brother,_ she realises with a queasy lurch of shame. “I – we–” _I am almost a woman grown, I cannot play such games. And Robb, if our parents saw–_  
  
“I should go,” Robb says quickly, jumping up and avoiding her eye. He rushes out so fast he knocks over her candle, and Sansa is quick to right it. She does not call after him.  
  
_It wasn't a real kiss,_ she tells herself in the weeks afterward. _He's kissed me as a brother dozens of times, this was just one of those._ But things are different between them then, awkward and stilted, and they can't bear to be alone. Robb doesn't come to comfort her when she cries anymore. Father does, Bran does, Jon does, even Arya does once or twice, but not him. Sansa's glad.  
  
When Sansa finds her perfect prince and leaves for King's Landing with him, she wonders if Robb is as relieved as she is.  
  
When she waits in King's Landing for him to rescue her, and he does not come, she wonders if that is why.

* * *

“I won't go,” Sansa stomps her foot and crosses her arms, not caring one whit how childish she looks. “They can't make me! I'll tie myself to the bed and tell the crown prince they're trying to kidnap me. Joffrey will put a stop to this, I know he will.”  
  
“Shut up and pack,” Arya scowls, shoving clothes into her trunk aggressively.  
  
“You're not any happier about this than I am!” Sansa says. “You don't want to leave your stupid dancing master–”  
  
“Syrio is not stupid!” Sansa blinks in surprise. She doesn't understand why Arya's gotten so attached to the man; she never even thought Arya liked dancing. She certainly never took up the offer when Sansa tried to teach her. _Is she in love with him?_ Sansa wonders, feeling a little sick. But that doesn't make sense; Arya's just a child, really, not even twelve yet. She's not old enough to be in love. _Am I?_  
  
Sansa shakes that thought away; of course she is, she's in love with Joffrey. “You can always get a new dancing master,” she says, ignoring Arya's glare. “But Joffrey – we're meant to be together, Father can't make us–”  
  
“Why do you even like him?!” Arya exclaims, frustrated. “He's mean and stupid, he got–”  
  
“He's not, he's–” _brave and noble and kind_ , and Robb's face pops into her head, but no, she will not think of that, that never happened, “–my prince, and, we're going to have beautiful babies together, and–”  
  
“What do you want, Sansa?!” Arya bursts out. Sansa stops, dumbstruck. “You don't _really_ like him, I know you don't. You have to lie to yourself all the time. Why? What is it you need to believe?”  
  
“I–” How do you answer a question like that? “I'm going to be his queen, I–”  
  
“Is that all that matters to you, being queen?”  
  
Arya is coming closer to her, and Sansa finds herself backing up against the door unwittingly. _She's just a stupid little girl_ , she tells herself, but then she remembers she's just a stupid little girl, and she's never felt less the elder sister. “No, of course not,” she says demurely, and Arya looks at her suspicious, and she is starting to grow up, she looks so much like Jon now, “it's just – I want to do right by our family, and–”  
  
“But Father doesn't want you to marry him,” Arya says, and well, she's got Sansa there. “He wants to protect you.” Arya bites her lip after she says that, like she's keeping something back. “You – you deserve better, Sansa. Why are you doing this to yourself?”  
  
Sansa's back thuds against the wood. _Brave and noble and kind._ It hurts to admit it, but Arya is more of a Stark than she is, she always has been. “Arya – don't–”  
  
And then Arya's mouth is on hers, and Arya has no idea how to kiss, but Sansa doesn't know much better, and Arya is trying. She's brave enough to press their lips together much longer than Robb did. _Go,_ she seems to be saying. _We have to go. You don't belong with these people, you belong with us._  
  
Sansa pushes her away as soon as she comes to her senses. Arya stares, and Sansa should scream, should slap her, but she is dumbstruck. “I – I need to pack,” she stutters out.  
  
Arya looks crestfallen. “Sansa–”  
  
“I need to pack!”  
  
Sansa rushes out then, back to her own chambers where she can hide from her sister and the memory of her brother. _Joffrey. I love Joffrey. It means nothing._  
  
She and Arya don't speak again after that. Days later Arya is gone. Days later Father is gone. And Sansa stays, in King's Landing with her _beloved_ Joffrey. _She was right. Of course she was right. She was right and she didn't even have the decency to stay and rub my nose in it._ She just disappeared when they took Father, and the rumour is she's dead, but she can't be can she? _I'd know. I'd feel the annoyance lifted from my shoulders. She wouldn't leave me like that, would she?_  
  
But Sansa soon realises, wherever she is, she's not coming back. She is alone now. _She disappeared. She kissed me and then she disappeared._  
  
Sansa smiles to herself. That sounds like the start of a song.

* * *

Home again, finally, with her brother by her side – not all her brothers, not her sister, not her mother and father, but Jon, she has Jon, and she will be grateful for every second she has with him. Sansa is older now, older and wiser. Well she could hardly be much dumber.  
  
They grow close, too close, except Sansa sees no reason to worry. He is her world now. They walk hand in hand through the godswood, and it's cold, but that makes it feel real. Her hand creeps below his cuff, rubbing the tiniest patch of bare skin across his wrist, and he does not stop her. They have both been alone for so long, and he wants to be touched as much as she does. With any other man she would be terrified, but with him, never. He is her love. He is Mother and Father and Bran and Rickon and Robb and Arya. He is her _family_.  
  
When she stops him in his tracks, she knows he knows what she's doing, but he doesn't run, doesn't protest. Still, she knows her brother well enough to know he needs her to make the first move.  
  
She kisses him properly; not tiny and bashful like Robb, not confused and desperate like Arya. A woman's kiss, not a girl's. His hand tangles in her hair and she wonders if he remembers her mother.  
  
“Sansa,” he whispers even as he pulls at her laces, “we shouldn't–”  
  
_Shouldn't_. It's an interesting word that. Robb shouldn't be dead. Arya shouldn't be gone. But they are, her brother and sister who left her with nothing but kisses when they were all too young to know what more there was. But Sansa is older now, older and wiser, and she will have every part of her brother she can and she cares not one whit what the gods have to say about it. If they exist, she doubts they could possibly hate her more than they already seem to.  
  
“It's alright Jon,” she tells him under the red eye of the weirwood, where they belong, “where alone now. It's just us.” They are all the other has left, and Sansa wonders, if Robb and Arya were still here, who would she prefer? Who would Jon? But it makes no difference now. “Who can judge us? We belong together. Surely, the gods owe us this one.”  
  
Jon agrees, and falls into her arms, falls into her, and after she lays wrapped in his arms against the trunk of the heart tree. It does feel like that tree is watching them, but Sansa can't bring herself to mind. She feels like, somehow, the weirwood understands. Jon sighs and kisses her hair. “I love you,” he says.  
  
“I love you too.” A pause and then she smiles. “Of course I do.”  
  
They could be caught at any moment and yet they do not move. The world cannot find them lacking if they find it lacking first. So they stay there, happy in one another's arms, sharing giggles and kisses like children, playing and practicing before they move on to find the ones they truly love.  
  
But they are not children anymore.


End file.
